


Dangerous Ground

by Amethystaris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Camping, Declarations Of Love, Destiel Harlequin Challenge (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Character(s), Non-Graphic Violence, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystaris/pseuds/Amethystaris
Summary: Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have been partners and best friends for three years, but everything changed the night Cas admitted the truth about his feelings for Dean. And when Cas was shot a few hours later, Dean felt his reluctance to get involved was vindicated.Can a camping trip in the High Sierras save their partnership?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108
Collections: Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2020





	Dangerous Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story for the Destiel Harlequin Challenge 2020. Thanks to everyone who puts this challenge together, it's a great idea!
> 
> Much to my surprise, the summary I chose to work with came from the "Suspense" category. I thought for sure I would go History or Fantasy, but nope. This is the one that felt like an actual story to me. It feels like a real accomplishment to actually get this written, whew.

It feels like being on a movie set, this little hole-in-the-wall bar tucked down the street from the Embassy. The chairs are mix-and-match between wicker and white painted metal with rust bleeding through at the joints. Andean music floats through the frankly terrible sound system, upbeat panpipes fighting the glower of the bartender for atmospheric dominance. 

Castiel Novak thinks that the panpipes are winning, aided in no small part by the delighted grin on the face of his partner, Dean Winchester. He stares at the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. This is his real smile, the real Dean. The one far too often hidden behind a smirky facade. This is the version of Dean that Cas is one of the privileged few to actually see. The version that Cas fell in love with. 

“Dean.” It is like a fist squeezes around his heart when Dean’s attention swings towards him. When all of the man’s focus is entirely on him. 

“Yeah?” Dean straightens, pauses in bringing his shot glass to his lips. “Hey, what is it? Something wrong?” He’s caught on to something in Cas’s expression, sets his glass back down. “Thought I finally talked you round to having a drink off hours once in a while isn’t the worst thing in the world.” 

“No, you have. That’s not it.” He picks up his own glass and downs the entire contents, ignoring the burn of the cheap alcohol, not breaking eye contact. Liquid courage. He doesn’t feel any more courageous than he did the moment before, except… maybe he does. 

Maybe he does, because he finally finds himself saying the words that have been more and more difficult to keep to himself. The words, the feeling that has been forcing itself into the middle of this partnership more and more. 

“I love you. Dean. I am in love with you.” 

Everything about Dean freezes. Nothing about his expression changes, and at the same time everything does. Castiel knows him well enough to know that  _ this _ smile is hiding panic. 

That fist squeezes around his heart again, this time sharper and more painful. Before either of them can figure out what to say, what to do next, the distinct rat-a-tat of gunfire sounds from down the street. 

Cas tosses a handful of bills on the table as he stands, the chair clattering to the floor in his haste. Both of them are out the door in a matter of moments.

“That’s coming from the embassy,” Dean says, reaching under the jacket he suffered wearing in this heat for the exact purpose of hiding his holstered gun. He presses himself against the corner of the building and peers up the street.

“It is,” Castiel agrees as he takes a look as well. Streams of people are running towards them, obscuring his view. Gaps here and there show men in olive drab fatigues carrying rifles converging on the gates of the Embassy. 

Tensions had been high this entire trip. If this wasn’t a political hotspot, Dean and Cas wouldn’t even be here. They are two of the best Special Agents in the Diplomatic Service, their skills wasted in calmer areas. Of course, if tensions had to finally break, it would be while they were off duty. They are bereft of tactical gear, not so much as a bullet-proof vest. 

Cas places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, arches an eyebrow, and tilts his head back the way they came. The entire Embassy complex is fenced and gated. If they want back in, the best approach is one of the smaller side gates and not the currently crowded and dangerous front gate. 

With a nod, Dean signals his agreement. They circle around the back way. There is little activity as they approach a small gate on the north side of the complex. This side is all tree-covered hills, a couple hundred feet separating the Embassy from some public tennis courts. A hurried scan of the area shows none of the attackers have made it over here as of yet. Cas keeps an eye out as Dean slides his access card through the reader and punches in his code while he goes through the protocol of identifying himself to the guards on the other side. 

A rustle of branches catches Cas's eye. He shifts to stand between Dean and the possible threat. It could be a bird, or a monkey. A flash of sun glinting off of metal is the only warning he has otherwise. 

“Move!” Cas shouts as he aims his gun towards the trees. “Inside, inside.” He hears the creak of the gate opening and starts to turn to follow Dean through the gate. 

He has barely started his turn when there is a shout from the trees. The small group of soldiers hidden there surges towards the now open gate. Realizing that there is too much distance to cover before the gate is closed again, one of the men raises his rifle and fires. 

Time compresses. Cas feels a burning pain in his abdomen. He raises his arm to return fire, but before he can, Dean grips him and pulls him backwards. The gate crashes closed behind them. Cas’ ears are ringing. He can’t focus on anything besides the warmth of Dean at his side. 

“Cas! Cas, I’m taking you to medical. Hang on, buddy. You’re okay. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.” 

He meets Dean’s worried gaze. “This would have been the more dramatic moment to tell you I love you,” he says just before his eyes roll back and he passes out. 

“No, ma’am. It was a through-and-through. They cleaned out the debris and did some patchwork on his intestines. I’ll feel better once he’s looked at back home, but they’re telling me he’ll make a full recovery.” 

Dean Winchester slumps down on a rickety chair down the hall from Cas, and drags his hand down his face. It has been a harrowing day, and then some, and he is exhausted. It takes a moment to remember he is on the phone, and to tune back in to Ellen. 

“...late tomorrow night. I’ll get verification that Cas will be okay to travel by then but I would also feel better having him examined at home. Both of you boys are to have a month off, minimum.”

Dean’s first instinct is to protest. He gets twitchy if there is nothing to do, nothing to focus on. He needs to move. He knows she is right, though. He wouldn’t want Cas getting back out there even close to only four weeks out, and he doesn’t want to go anywhere without Cas. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“I was expecting more of an argument out of you, Dean Winchester.”

He might not have been able to discern the care under her tough words if Dean hadn’t spent so much time growing up around Bobby Singer. Uncle Bobby went a long way towards preparing him for his boss’ particular brand of care. 

“Yes, ma’am. I might yell about it after I get a solid night’s sleep.” 

Her tone softens slightly. “You did a good job, kid. Don’t scoff at me,” she cuts him off before he can scoff. “You and your partner are alive, and so is the staff you were sent there to protect. That’s called a win. Let everyone else worry about political repercussions. You go get that sleep, we’ll talk again later.” 

She hangs up before Dean can reply. He thunks his head against the wall behind him, then pulls himself to his feet again and grimaces. His clothes are stiff from dried sweat and blood. Cas’ blood. Fuck. He makes his way back to his partner’s room to reassure himself the other man is, in fact, still breathing. 

The sun is just starting to rise, leaving the only illumination as the sickly yellow hospital room lighting. Cas looks more pale and more frail than Dean has ever seen him, lying in that bed. The steady beep of monitors is comforting. He is still breathing. At least he’s still breathing.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” Dean says to the sleeping Castiel. The sedatives aren’t supposed to wear off for a few hours, yet. Dean walks over and brushes a lock of hair off of Cas’ forehead. “You’re my best friend. I can’t lose you. Not you, too. That’s why…” 

He blinks the sudden moisture out of his eyes. “How would I survive, if this happened after I let you even further into my life? You know they wouldn’t let us work together anymore, either. You concentrate on getting better, then you’ll see that this is the best thing for both of us, staying just as we are. Don’t worry if you don’t have someone to come look out after you when we get back home. I’m getting put on forced leave, too. I got nothing but time to come make your oatmeal that weird way you like it, and replace your bandages, whatever you need. That one in the back is going to be a bitch to reach on your own.” 

Maybe he should go find a bed somewhere; exhaustion is really starting to pull on him. He can’t quite bring himself to leave Cas, though, so Dean sits down in the chair that is only slightly more comfortable than the one out in the waiting room.

“I’ll be right here when you open your eyes,” Dean promises Cas. He shrugs out of his jacket and balls it up behind his head for a makeshift pillow, and drops off into uncomfortable sleep. 

It seems only a moment, but when he opens his eyes again, the room is bright with sunlight, and Cas is sitting up and watching him. 

“Cas…” Dean croaks out as he straightens up, and winces as his neck twinges. He fights through the brief pain to stand up and trip on his way to Cas’ bedside. “You’re awake. Hey, buddy. How you feeling?”

“Dean…” Cas’ normally raspy voice is made even worse by the rigors of hospitalization. “The Ambassador?” 

“Safe. He’s fine, everything’s under control. It’s a shitshow, but not a shitshow we have to handle.” Of course. Of course that would be the first thing he asks about, nothing about his own condition. He makes it damn hard for Dean to keep him at an emotional distance.

Cas nods, relief clear on his face. He twists one hand in the sheet. “Are we still in-country?”

Dean stares at that hand, fighting to not take hold of it. Instead, he makes a sweeping gesture to indicate the room. It’s clean, but some of the paint is cracked in places, a touch of water damage on the ceiling. The room is also muggy and warm, and the peeling posters on the closet door are in both Spanish and English. “Until tomorrow evening, assuming you’re given the all clear to check out. Yes.”

“Is there any reason I wouldn’t be?” Cas takes a deep breath, frowns when it hurts. “Dean. About… about yesterday. It was yesterday, wasn’t it? Have I lost more time than that?”

“Depending on what exactly you are referring to, yeah, Cas. Yeah, it was yesterday everything went down. Including you.” Dean moves to perch tentatively on the edge of Cas’ bed, facing his friend. “So long as you don’t start spouting blood, you’ll be good to leave.”

“Then let’s hope I don’t start spouting blood. I would far rather be home than here.” Cas looks Dean up and down. “I meant it, you know,” he adds, voice soft.

So. They aren’t avoiding the topic after all. Dean looks out the window. Anywhere but in those searching blue eyes. “I know you did,” he finally answers. “Cas…” He darts a look, then away again. He owes him something. Some sort of answer. “You’re my best friend, you know? Anything more. I can’t. It’s not who I am. Not what I’m meant for.”

Dean’s knuckles are white where he clenches the bedding at his hip.

Cas swallows hard. After a moment he nods curtly and visibly locks all emotion behind a bland expression. “Okay.” He sinks back into the bed, looking somehow smaller. “I find I’m tired. I think I’ll try and get some more sleep. No need to stay. I’m sure there’s still more business to be taken care of.”

Dean can take a hint, though it makes him hurt to acknowledge it. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go tell your nurse you’re awake. They’ll want to check in on you anyhow. I’ll go get our stuff packed so you don’t have to worry about that.” He pats Cas’ leg, still not looking at him directly, and heads out the door.

As soon as he is out of view, Dean takes in a deep breath and lets it out on a shaky exhale. Okay. It’s fine. He’s fine.

He is not fine. They need time. They both just need time. This is for the best. Cas will come to terms with that. This is for the best. He heads out to find the nurse like he promised.

“Sammy!” Dean shouts out for his brother as he shoulders his way through the front door of Sam’s house.

“Out back!” comes the answer. “Bring the beer, I have a cooler.”

Dean continues through the house and out the patio doors. The screen door sticks a little. He squints up at the roller and plans to bring his tools with next time to get that taken care of. Sam’s house is newer and in better repair than Dean’s, but that doesn’t mean it’s completely devoid of projects that pop up here and there.

He pulls the longnecks out of the cardboard holder and pushes the bottles down into the ice of the open cooler. Being here helps him to relax, at least a little bit. He’s been understandably tense with his partner getting shot, almost dying… fuck. And then getting back home again, worrying the whole time. What if Cas ripped out some stitches or something?

That hadn’t happened. He reminds himself that they are safe at home. “Something smells good. You grilling? Vegan soy burgers?”

“Are you admitting that vegan soy burgers would smell good on the grill?” Sam asks him as he steps over and pulls his brother into a hug, slaps him on the back a few times. Dean hugs him back.

Sam’s rescue dog bounds up on to the deck from where she was chasing butterflies, and comes to inspect Dean. He’s not met Chex in person before, only seen pictures. She has a wiry brown and tan coat, and what would probably be white muzzle and paws if it weren’t for the dirt currently covering them.

“I admit nothing of the sort, only that a good char can cover up a multitude of evils,” Dean replies as he squats down to greet the dog. “Hey there, little lady. Looks like you’ve been entertaining yourself with the geraniums, hm?” He tugs at her ears, scratches behind them. With his lifestyle there’s no way he could have pets, but he does like dogs. For short times. He’s never been dog-obsessed like Sam.

Cas, he knows, has always wanted a cat, and regrets not being able to adopt one.

Sam heaves out a sigh. “She’s still got a bit of puppy in her. I’m taking her love of dirt as proof there is some terrier in the mix.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “You been to visit Cas, yet? How is he doing?”

The flight home was unpleasant. Dean has a lot to worry about on top of his hatred of going anywhere in an airplane. Cas was grumpy enough over his hovering (and admittedly probably other reasons as well,) that it was Ellen had called to let Dean know how the checkup went.

“Not since we got home, no. Ellen said his check went well enough. The doctors don’t think they need to go in and fix anything, he just needs to take it easy for a while and not get too overeager about getting back in fighting shape.”

It feels weird to not have seen Cas in person, but he just can’t do it, not quite yet, not when Cas doesn’t want him there. He’ll visit soon, despite Cas’ feelings on the matter. Maybe tomorrow.

Sam gives him a weird look, probably picking up on how it was Ellen that called to tell him how the appointment went, and not Cas himself. For once, though, he doesn’t push. “I’ll go with you sometime. Or next barbecue can be at your place, and invite both of us over.” He grabs a water out of the cooler and tosses that to Dean before taking one for himself. The beer can wait for dinner.

“What about you? You doing okay after everything went down?” Sam takes a seat on a patio chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Chex makes a spot for herself in the shade under the chair and plops down.

Dean hesitates. He tries to strike a balance on what he shares with Sam, telling him enough to keep him informed while holding back the details that would just upset his brother too much – or violate security protocols. “Not gonna lie, it was a rough one. Too close.” He shudders, turns the water bottle around in his hands. Damn Sam, using reusable bottles so there’s no label to pick at. Though… score! There’s still some residue from the price tag stuck to the bottom. He works at it with one nail. “Ellen’s forcing me to take a month off duty. I’d fight it, but with Cas laid up I’d just get stuck on desk duty, so…”

“And no one wants you on desk duty. A month? We should do something together. We haven’t had a lot of time to spend together these last few years. Hey, remember when Dad used to take us camping?” Sam dangles his hand to scritch whatever he can reach of Chex.

Dean looks at him, giving him his best flat look. “Yes. Mosquitoes, rocks digging into my back, accidentally using poison ivy as toilet paper. Hard to forget.” Camping was not his thing. Give him a cheap motel with a working TV and he’s happy. Happier still with his memory foam mattress. It remembers him, even when he’s gone for months at a time on assignment.

Any camping they did as kids was less to do about fun and more to do about John finding a campground before he was able to find a motel to crash at when he just couldn’t drive anymore.

“Come on, it wasn’t as bad as all that. Give it another chance, when we can pick a good campground. It would be fun.” Sam’s voice starts to pitch up as he gains enthusiasm for this idea. “I’ve been looking into going up into the Sierras. It’s early in the season for it, but that means fewer bugs.”

Dean narrows his gaze at Sam. Most of the excuses he would have pulled out a few years ago no longer apply. He can’t claim to not be in good enough shape for hiking. His job requires him to keep up his physical fitness. He can’t even claim he doesn’t like roughing it. In the diplomatic service they’re usually deployed to urban areas, but that doesn’t mean he’s never been trained in survival exercises. Not exactly his favorite training ever, but he knows how to do it.

It  _ has _ been a long time since he and Sam have had extended quality time together, and sue him, he misses the moose. Being forced onto the sidelines means he has the kind of time that he usually has to work to schedule. Sam timed his attack well, he has to give the kid credit there.

“How long?” he cautiously asks, knowing before the words slip out that Sam is going to take that as a victory.

Sam beams a smile at him. “A week. I can’t take more than that, I have a few cases juggling around that are coming up to court soon.” He does social work, advocating for kids who have had to live in less than ideal circumstances.

A week. A whole frigging week out in the wilderness. But… Sam. Time with Sam. “Sierras, you said? How soon? I’ve only got what, three and a half weeks left of my enforced leave.”

“That’s really enough time for Cas to recuperate? We’ll go next Monday, I’ll take care of all of the reservations. Everything.” He pushes himself up out of his chair and goes to check on the grill, pokes around a bit. “Looks like the veggies are done. You want chicken or one of the veggie burgers?”

“He’ll likely be on limited duty after the month. Chicken. Just because something smells nicely charred doesn’t mean it isn’t going to taste like sawdust. Maybe the char is from the chicken, anyhow. Yeah, okay. Next Monday. I can do that. Everything, huh?” He might have to set some guidelines as far as how much roughing it he’s actually willing to do.

“Everything,” Sam agrees as he plates up some chicken and grilled vegetables for both of them. “I’m not sure I trust you not to sabotage this if I leave you in charge of anything. Here.” He hands over a plate for Dean, and then fishes out a bottle of beer for them both. “To coming home safely.”

“From the camping trip?” Dean snarks. “I’ll drink to that.” He raises his bottle in a toast, then downs a long drink. Good stuff. “Can we bring beer on a camping trip? Is this a hiking trip, or is the car going to be close enough to base?”

“Not from the camping trip. Dean, honestly. Cas getting shot… that could just have easily been you. How far away were you from him when it happened?”

Sam, these days, rarely shies away from talking about topics that he more than likely realizes Dean doesn’t want to talk about. At least so long as the topic is about Dean and not himself.

“Classified details,” he returns, which isn’t even a lie. A bit of a stretch, maybe. Whether or not he actually answers isn’t so much the point, though. It makes him think about it, which is likely Sam’s point. “And for what it’s worth, I would have preferred if it  _ was _ me rather than Cas.”

“I’m just glad you’re both okay. Plan that get together at yours, okay? I want to see him, too.” Sam reaches over with his beer bottle to clink with Dean’s.

Dean grunts. Thoughts of Cas are enough to distract him into eating a grilled zucchini slice. He makes a face, mostly for Sam’s benefit. It’s not actually that bad. He waits until Sam is busy plating his own food before sneaking in another bite.

He’ll give Cas a day or two more to get in touch, then he’s going over there no matter what.

Cas stares at the top shelf of his upper kitchen cabinet in consternation. On a given day, he can reach the blender easily. He could reach it now, if he were willing to suffer the tug on his stitches and accompanying discomfort.

He’s not meant to be having any alcohol due to the medication he was prescribed, but that doesn’t mean Hannah can’t enjoy a margarita. Theoretically.

She walks into the kitchen, takes in the situation at a glance. “Don’t even try it. I may know field medicine, but that doesn’t mean I like working with ripped stitches.” She heads over, pulling a chair with her to climb up. “You tall people are annoying.” She’s not exactly short, but she’s enough shorter than she can’t reach it without a boost. She reaches the blender and hands it down to him. “There you go.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, Hannah.” He goes to rinse out any accumulated dust, and sets to mixing together a margarita for her. There are some tamales warming in the oven, to go with the theme. “Business is going well?”

Cas joined the army straight out of high school as a means to pay for college. A few of his army friends settled in the Bay area as well after discharge, and started up a private security firm. He glances warily at the table, where Hannah had set down a folder of information. Balthazar has been attempting to recruit Cas for years. It appears sending Hannah is his latest mode of attack.

“It is,” Hannah answers. “More work all the time. It is getting to the point where we’re having to turn down some jobs because we don’t have enough experienced staff to lead the teams. You know anyone with the right skill set? Plenty of experience with security and risk assessment? Ability to work with clients, keep calm in high stress environments? Expertise with different weapons, and licensed for concealed carry?” She takes the margarita and sips at it.

“Hannah.” Cas leans against the counter. “I like the job that I have.” All of the perks of being based locally, cutting down on travel, none of that has even begun to compete with working with Dean.

“The job you have just tried to kill you,” she points out bluntly. “And lately you’ve seemed a bit off.”

He drags his palm down his face. “Just… give me ten minutes. The tamales are almost done cooking. We’ll talk over dinner.”

Cas lets Hannah take over setting the table. When the food is done, they settle in to eat with a margarita refill for Hannah and a glass of water for Cas.

“Okay,” she says after getting started on the delicious tamales. Cas is a very good cook, most of the time. On the few dishes he knows how to make. “Spill. What’s going on? It’s more than the GSW. I know those are a bitch, hurt like hell, but that kind of pain doesn’t drag you down like this. And where’s Dean? I figured he’d be here, griping at you even as he makes sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I haven’t talked to him since we returned,” Cas admits. He’s needed time. It’s possible he’s taken too much time and now isn’t sure how to reach out. A large part of him is banking on Dean showing up with or without an invitation.

“You’ve been back how long, a week? And you haven’t spoken?” She’s genuinely surprised by that. They aren’t just partners, she knows that. They’re the best of friends. “Did something happen?”

He concentrates on his food, taking a moment before finally admitting, “I told him that I love him.”

Hannah isn’t surprised by the fact that Cas is in love with him. She’s got eyes, and she’s seen them together. She is, however, somewhat surprised that he said anything. “Cas,” she says sympathetically. If Dean had taken it well, he would be here, not maintaining radio silence.

“Do you know what I’ve realized, the more I’ve thought about it? Gone over our interactions, again and again.” He looks her in the eye, suddenly a bit intense. “He said he can’t. He wasn’t meant for that sort of a relationship. He never said he didn’t feel the same way.”

Hannah takes another sip of her margarita, considering his words. “Do you think you can convince him otherwise? That he’s wrong?”

“I need to at least try. I knew, before I said anything, that the chances he would agree, return the sentiment, just like that, were very small. I said the words anyhow. I needed to let him know. We’ve had three years together, Dean and I. Now I have three more weeks to see if I can get through to him. Can you ask Balthazar to give me those three weeks to give him an answer?”

“Castiel, you could take three years and he’d still take you the second you expressed any interest. Yes, of course. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

He smiles. It doesn’t fully light up his eyes, but it is better than the morose cloud that had been hanging over his head. “Would you like to help me concoct a battle plan?”

Dean has given Cas a week. A week is more than enough time for personal space, it’s time to get back into each other’s spaces. He’s been spending his time working on projects throughout the little fixer-upper that he purchased for himself about a year ago. He hasn’t had a lot of time to work on it before this, but he doesn’t mind that.

He maneuvers Baby into a parking spot at Cas’ apartment. Just before he is about to open the door to head inside, his phone rings.

“Sammy! Miss me already?”

“Hey, Dean,” Sam replies. “And no. Yes. Sort of?” He pictures Sam running his hand through his hair, then shaking those ridiculous locks back into place. “I have bad news. A big case I’ve been working on got moved up on the docket – right in the middle of the camping trip. I’m so sorry, but this one is important to me. So important. It’s a couple kids who’ve had a rough time.” The background sounds of Sam’s busy office filter though to Dean.

Dean bites back the disappointment. He didn’t even want to go on that trip anyhow, not really. “Oh. Hey, yeah, no problem. I get it. Of course you should be there for your kids. You going to have any time to hang out?”

“Yeah, of course… weekends are good, evenings. I just can’t be gone for the whole week. It sucks big time, and I’m so annoyed and disappointed, but…” But Sam wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he abandoned these kids right now. “Rain check? I know right now’s a really good time for you, but you’ve still got vacation time coming, right? We can do it some other time?”

“It’s all kind of up in the air right now, Sam. I don’t think they’ll send us right back out there, not when Cas is still recovering.” Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Might get sent off to DC, I don’t know. I’ll fill you in as soon as I find out. Rain check though, yes. Absolutely.”

“I’m sorry. If I had any control over this… I was really looking forward to it, too. I haven’t been to the Sierras in a really long time, and they’re beautiful this time of year, while there’s still snow up on the peaks.”

“I’m the last one to complain about work commitments taking priority. It’s fine. Really.”

“You know… you could go without me,” Sam suggests. “Working on your house is still working. Take an actual vacation! You deserve to actually enjoy yourself once in a while, you know.”

Dean scoffs at that. “You think going camping, by myself, is something I would do to enjoy myself? Me. Dean Winchester.”

“Yes, you. Dean Winchester. Hey, I have to go. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

Whether he wants to or not, Dean is sure. Sam can be stubborn. “Yeah, we’ll talk later. Go be a hero.”

After hanging up with Sam, Dean takes a moment to recalibrate. He gets himself into a more positive frame of mind before he heads upstairs to visit Cas. If he starts out in a bad mood, the scales will be tipped towards argument. He doesn’t want to argue with Cas. He just… needs to make sure he’s doing okay.

“You can do this.” He slaps his palms against Baby’s steering wheel, then heads inside. He has long had the code so no need to have Cas let him in.

Dean takes one deep breath before knocking on the door when he arrives. Okay. It’s Cas. No matter what else, this is  _ Cas _ . They’re going to be okay.

After a moment, he hears the familiar tread of Cas’ footsteps heading towards the door, a momentary pause while he looks through the viewer, and then the sound of the deadbolt being set free.

Cas looks… very Cas-like, the way he looks when he’s been going too many days on too little sleep. His hair is all in disarray, wearing an over-sized tee and loose-fitting track pants. Part of that is because he’s not supposed to wear anything that chafes against the bandages.

“Hello, Dean.” He opens the door far enough for Dean to enter.

“Cas. Buddy. You look like shit, have you been taking care of yourself?” Dean slides past him into the apartment, and takes a look around to see what state the apartment is in. “You have groceries? I’ll make you lunch.”

“Thank you,” Cas says drily. “For the compliment, not for the offer of making lunch. I have some groceries.” The apartment isn’t bad. Cas is naturally more orderly than Dean, though he has his moments and idiosyncrasies.

“That should be the other way around, you know.” Dean heads straight for the fridge, to check out how stocked Cas really is.

He is trying, really hard, to be normal. Just act normal, everything is fine, everything is as it has always been.

Cas sighs. “You’re right. My apologies. Are you finding anything? Hannah brought some additional groceries when she stopped by. She put them away, so I confess I’m not certain exactly what she brought.”

“Hannah wouldn’t know good food if it bit her in the ass. Well, I should be able to do something with this. Hamburgers?” He grabs a package of ground beef and peeks over the fridge door at Cas.

“ _ Yes _ . Though you always complain that I don’t have a proper grill.” Castiel goes into the kitchen and gingerly seats himself at the table, wincing slightly.

Dean’s shoulders relax. Okay, Cas is willing to play along. That’s good.

“Because you don’t, and you won’t so long as you live in an apartment. I’ll make do.” He starts pulling out other ingredients, as comfortable in Cas’ kitchen as his own. Smaller than his, but newer appliances. “Do you have a follow-up appointment?”

“Yes, the day after tomorrow. Hopefully the rest of the stitches will be removed at that point, and I can begin to do more exercises, though I will still be on weight restrictions.”

“Are you having trouble sleeping? What’s with the…” Dean pauses in his task to whirl his finger around his face, “bags under your eyes?”

“I’m sleeping well enough. What’s your excuse?”

“Hah. Hilarious.” Dean gives him a faux smile. “So you had Hannah over helping you.”

“The way you phrase it presupposes that I asked. No. She stopped by on her own initiative. But she did help me, yes.”

Dean does feel slightly mollified that Cas didn’t invite her over when he didn’t ask Dean. He’s not jealous of Cas’ other friendships. Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

“Sam wants me to host a barbecue so he can see you for himself. At some point before we get the new marching orders. You have any big plans I need to work around?” Dean asks.

“Nothing specific, no. I’m not feeling up to the annual pilgrimage to Illinois.” He’s not close to his family, but he’s not completely alienated from them, either. They maintain strained relations.

“It would give you a chance to meet Chex. She’s not a cat, but maybe you could close your eyes and pretend.”

“I would like to see Sam, yes. Would it be a large gathering, or just us? Have you seen her? And Sam? How is he doing?”

“I was over there, yeah. Good. Busy. Dog is cute. Likes to dig. Never getting in Baby.” Dean finishes mixing ingredients together and starts to form patties. “Haven’t decided how big of a group. What would you prefer?”

“It’s not my decision. But you know I generally prefer smaller, more intimate gatherings, with people I am close to, rather than large affairs where I barely know most of those present. If my wishes are to be accounted for.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to take your preferences into account, Cas.” Dean glances up at him. He’s… okay. Even looking tired and a bit ragged, he still looks gorgeous. And that is not a way that Dean can afford to think. “For instance. What do you want as a side?”

“I don’t even know what the options are. I should, since it’s my apartment, but… A salad?”

“You would say that.” Dean snorts. “Fine. A salad.” He washes his hands and goes searching the fridge for rabbit food.

Once the food is done cooking, Dean carries a full platter over to the dining room and sets it down. “You want to grab some drinks?” he calls over to Cas. He starts to neaten up some stacks of paperwork Cas has lying around when a folder catches his eye. Garrison Security. It’s the sticky note on it that really catches his eye.

_ ‘Call me when you’ve made up your mind!’ _

He picks up the folder and brandishes it at Cas like an accusation when the other man walks in carrying the drinks. “What is this? Made up your mind about what, Cas?” Dean is fully aware this is the company that Balthazar and Hannah work at. The ones who have been actively recruiting Cas for years.

Cas doesn’t answer right away. In the past, he’d dismissed the recruitment efforts quickly, though not so harshly that they gave up entirely.

“You’re intelligent, Dean, as much as you sometimes like to disguise it. Hannah has re-extended the employment offer with Garrison, as she periodically has done since she started working there.”

“ _ Made up your mind _ suggests that you haven’t said no this time.” Dean starts to feel prickles of unease. Does Cas want to get away from him, now?

Cas doesn’t answer right away. He sighs, rotates his glass on the table. “I haven’t said yes. But you’re correct. I haven’t said no, either. It… it feels as though I should give it more consideration than I have in the past.” He looks up at Dean, meeting his gaze.

“Because you got shot?” Dean asks, “Or because of me?”

“A little from Column A, a little from Column B,” Cas admits. “Perhaps it’s a mid-life crisis. Time to at least consider if a change would be good.”

“You are far too young for a mid-life crisis.” Dean falls into his chair, losing the motivation to keep himself standing. “Just… eat your lunch.” He pulls a plate closer and starts piling toppings on his burger, almost mindlessly.

There has to be some way he can make Cas see reason. Some quality time together, where he can remind him just how well they work together. As a team. Partners. His mind flashes to his earlier conversation with Sam.

“Go camping with me.”

Cas pauses with his burger midway between his plate and his mouth, his eyebrows climbing almost comically into his hairline. “What was that? Dean Winchester, suggesting camping? I thought you hated bugs with a passion. Same with the lack of a beer fridge or television.”

“Hardy har. I just spent an assignment in South America. I can deal with bugs. Besides, Sam says it’s early season and there aren’t that many out yet.”

“Hating bugs and being able to deal with them aren’t mutually exclusive. Sam says? What does Sam have to do with this?”

Dean scratches his cheek. He’s been a bit lax in shaving the last few days; his fingernails scrape over growing stubble. “It was his idea,” Dean admits. “Going camping. He suggested it, for him and me. Only, a case he was working on got moved up.” He’s not interested in lying to Cas any more than Cas is interested in lying to him.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Dean. I know you rarely have the opportunity to spend quality time with Sam. You must be disappointed to have your plans ruined like that.” Cas sets his burger down on his plate once more, giving full attention to Dean.

“The kids he works with, I know they’re important to him.” Dean picks up his own burger. “It is a bit strange. We grew up avoiding child protective services like they were evil incarnate. And that’s what Sam chooses to do.”

“You’ve both chosen different paths in your crusades to make the world a better place,” Cas observes. “Are you serious about this camping suggestion?”

“Yeah, of course. Of course I am. The campsite is up in the High Sierras, so might be a bit of elevation change to deal with, but I’ll take care of all the heavy lifting. I promise.”

Cas tilts his head to the side as he regards Dean. Dean takes a bit bite to avoid fidgeting.

“All right. I’m in,” Cas finally says. “Assuming the doctor gives the all clear after my next appointment.”

Dean beams a smile at him, mouth half full of food. “Great.” This will be perfect, no work to interfere in spending time together. He finishes chewing before saying anything else. “You won’t regret it, Cas. Just let me know what the doc says.”

“Do you have any details? Or are those all locked in Sam’s brain?” Cas asks before he finally digs into his own meal.

“Locked in Sam’s brain. I’ll get them out, see what sort of gear he already has. I’ll have all that information by the time you’ve had your appointment. You good for driving?”

“Yes. I’ve been told that being in good shape is aiding in my recovery – and it was a clean wound, as they go. Still, it would be best not to plan any strenuous hikes.”

Dean smiles at him. “You got it, no strenuous hikes. Not my preference anyhow. You’ll see, Cas. It will be great.”

It was not great. The hike from the parking lot to their first campsite was short, yes, but also startlingly uphill. Thankfully, there is nothing wrong with his legs, and Dean is carrying their packs. So far, Dean is doing an admirable job of not complaining. Much. The odd expletive bursts out here and there, perfectly audible even when it’s clear he’s trying to keep them under his breath. That plus the view makes the climb almost worth it.

Dean is walking behind him, making sure to keep an eye on Cas.

There have been spots on the path they’ve had to sidestep due to snow, not an auspicious sign, but mostly it has been clear. Finally, Cas steps through some trees and sees the cabins lined up, and the lake beyond.

“See it yet, buddy?”

Buddy. Cas rolls his eyes slightly where Dean cannot see. Dean has a remarkable attachment to his emotionally distancing nicknames.

“Yes.”

Dean comes up behind him, stopping as well to take in the view. “Huh. Not quite as rustic as I thought it might be. We’re in lucky number 7.”

No, not quite so rustic, as there are actual cabins. It is peaceful here, and unquestionably beautiful. It’s late morning, now. There is some activity, but not much. Anyone who stayed here the night before has moved on, and the next set haven’t yet arrived.

“This way. Laundry here, you sweat through your clothes enough to need it?” Cas asks as he leads the way. As a national park, the campground has good signage, at least.

Dean lifts his arm and turns his nose towards his pit. “Don’t think so? Though maybe should take advantage while we can. Are there laundry facilities at all the campsites?”

Cas memorized the materials, once Dean provided them. He often pores over written materials, remembering the strangest facts and bits of information. Anything that catches his eye – and what’s going to catch his eye is often unpredictable.

“Most, but not all.” They’ve hardly had the chance to really work up a sweat, he isn’t yet worried about laundry. Cas leads the way to lucky cabin 7 and digs around as Dean sets down their bags.

“Were you interested in fishing?” Cas asks. “I would rather ease back into the hiking.”

“Yeah, fishing sounds great. We’ve got collapsible poles Not sure what sort of lures Sam packed away, not his favored pastime.” Dean has always enjoyed fishing. Give him a fishing pole and a cooler with some cold ones in it, and he’s happy.

“I thought the point of fishing was to drink beer,” Cas says. “Doesn’t matter whether you have proper lures in that case.”

“Well I didn’t bring any beer,” Dean replies. “Smart ass. The gear is in that bag, grab it?”

They head out with some camp chairs to the shore of the lake. The water is shallow and calm, the surrounding mountains reflected on its surface. A bit chill, this high of an elevation, but at least all of the ice has melted off of the lake, and the sun is out warming them up.

Cas is more interested in watching Dean, honestly, than in any sort of fishing. Whatever happens in the near future, whatever changes to their relationship, he plans to fully soak in this experience of simply existing, side-by-side. Every now and then, he catches Dean watching him right back, just enough to stoke the embers of his hope that Dean feels something more than friendship for him, too.

By early afternoon, they’ve managed to catch one trout between the two of them, and other campers have started to arrive.

“Break for lunch?” Cas suggests, before his stomach starts grumbling.

“Sounds awesome to me,” Dean agrees. “You know how to fry a trout?” It’s a decent sized fish – and everything tastes better fresh.

“No clue,” Cas admits. “Toss it back and find something else?”

“Hell no!” Dean protests. “I know how, just was asking if you did. We caught this, it’s our prize, we deserve to enjoy the fruits of our labor!”

Cas raises his hands in surrender, suppressing a smile. “All right. Go for it, then. I’ll go find something to add to our meal.”

“See if Sam packed any flour or cornmeal or something like that? I’ll start cleaning the fish.” Dean whistles as he heads off to prepare the fish, cheerful and jaunty.

Cas watches him for a moment and shakes his head fondly.

They do take a leisurely hike after lunch, and make it back to the campsite in time for dinner served in a dining cabin. A group of three gentlemen takes a seat across from them.

“Ah, fellow campers. Good evening,” one of them says. “Lovely spring evening, isn’t it?”

Dean smiles, turning the charm on ‘low’. “It is. A bit chilly, but that is what the flannel is for, right?” He raises his water bottle in a toast. “I’m Dean, this is Cas.”

The man gives Dean a casual once over, barely hiding his disdain for said flannel. He is wearing varying shades of long-sleeved Oxford shirts, with an expensive wool vest over the top of it. The other two are dressed similarly. “Yes, well. The name is Arthur,” he introduces himself. “My associates are Mick and Renny. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Cas narrows his eyes slightly after nodding in polite greeting. Something about the group of them is pinging warning bells in his head.

“Pleasure indeed, Arthur, Mick, and Renny,” Dean replies. “You just getting started today too? We’ve been here for a few hours. Went fishing. Didn’t catch much, but the one trout we got is a beauty.”

He’s putting on his overly friendly, dumb hick routine. That, more than anything, signals to Cas that Dean isn’t getting a favorable first impression off of them, either.

“Very recently arrived, yes. Fishing. Good for you.” Arthur looks like that is the last topic he wants to be on, and proves it by changing the topic right after. “You haven’t been hiking around, then? Seen anything interesting?”

The one called Mick is watching Cas with ill-disguised interest. Renny merely looks incredibly bored.

“Not yet, no,” Dean says. “I mean, we took a short hike in the immediate area, and it’s beautiful, but we haven’t tackled the longer trails yet. You? Do any hiking before getting here at camp?” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table in a way that impedes Mick’s view of Cas.

“Not as of yet,” Arthur answers. Getting the lay of the land, so to speak.” He smirks.

Small talk is so excruciating. Cas checks out of any need to participate by feigning more exhaustion than he actually feels. He is tired, yes, but not so much that he needs to list to the left and lean against Dean.

He squeezes Dean’s knee when he shoots Cas a concerned look. He’s fine, really. It’s a good reason to get out of there as quickly as possible after the meal is completed.

Dean guides Cas out of the dining cabin with a hand on the small of his back. “Today take too much out of you? Let’s get you to bed.”

“No, Dean. I’m perfectly fine. I don’t want to miss the sunset.” The views just outside of camp are meant to be some of the most spectacular in the area.

Dean blinks at that. “So you were just pretending to sleep to avoid talking? Way to throw me to the wolves.”

“You were doing perfectly fine without me, Dean. You are much better than I am at coming off as dim-witted and dull.” Cas dodges the swat Dean sends his way.

“I’m not sure why I like you, sometimes. Sunset, huh? Best views over where those non-creepy people are walking?” Dean asks, gesturing off towards the west.

“I imagine so, yes.” Cas takes point, and leads the two of them a bit off the path, where they find a large, flat boulder to take a seat on, facing the sunset.

The view is truly beautiful, the sky splashing with streaks of yellow, orange and pink, and making the mountains nearly glow with reflected light.

Cas brushes his hand against Dean’s. When Dean does not pull his hand away after the first exploratory move, Cas follows by curling his fingers around Dean’s hand. He makes no other move, otherwise remaining perfectly still, watching the sunset.

Dean goes rigid for a moment, then just… gives in. He relaxes, and squeezes Cas’ hand back.

The sky rapidly darkens, yet neither of them move for some minutes. They wait until the other nearby campers have left before finally standing and dropping hands as though hand-holding has always been a normal aspect of their friendship. Dean clears his throat and nods towards their own cabin.

Cas nods back, the tiniest curl of a smile gracing his lips, then leads the way. Progress, after all.

The cabin feels smaller than it did earlier, when they dropped off their belongings. They’ve shared quarters countless times before, as partners who work together. This feels different, intimate, here in the dark. Especially after Cas lights a lantern and the space is bathed in a soft yellow glow.

“I don’t trust that those men are here for a simple vacation,” Cas comments as he strips out of his sweat-dampened shirt into cleaner sleep attire.

The scar on his abdomen is visible even in these low light conditions. So small to have caused so much pain.

“Instincts pinging at you?” Dean asks, keeping his voice low. Sound carries, though ‘nature’ is louder than one would think. There are bugs buzzing, birds chirping, wind whistling through the trees. Not as loud as in the jungle, but still loud. “Hard same.”

“Enough that I miss not having my gun with me,” Cas agrees, also keeping his voice low. “It might not be a restful night of sleep, even if it is unlikely they are an immediate danger.”

“Any thoughts on what they’re up to?” Dean asks as he takes care of changing as well. “Want me to do a little… investigating?”

Cas exhales. “No. No, we are not vigilantes acting on a mere suspicion of possible wrongdoing. We remain watchful but do not act first.”

“Fine,” Dean replies. The government gets kind of picky about going off to do your own thing, especially when one is an employee of said government. “Fine. We acknowledge that they are sketchy as hell, and move on with our vacation.”

Once Dean is tucked into his sleeping bag, Cas extinguishes the lantern and arranges himself as comfortably as possible. These aren’t exactly what he would call four-star accommodations, but he’s tired enough the discomfort shouldn’t keep him awake for too long.

“Good night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Cas wakes up first the next morning. Unsurprising, given Dean’s tendency to sleep hard when he did finally fall asleep. The cold cabin floor on his bare feet did much to clear the cobwebs of exhaustion away as Cas rolls out of his small bunk.

He stands and stretches the kinks out of his back after a less than restful sleep. A few hobbling steps bring him to the door, and opening it reveals that the sun is barely peeking over the mountain tops. Good. The sooner they get moving, the easier they can take the hike to the next night’s lodging.

Still, he brews coffee before daring to shake Dean awake. He swallows down a lump in his throat, thinking that if he cannot talk Dean around, this may be one of the last mornings he is treated to sleep-mussed hair and frankly adorable grumbling.

Predictably, Dean makes a sound halfway between a grumble and a growl. “Too early. Vacation. Go ‘way.” He pulls his thin pillow out from under his head and replaces it over the top, blocking out the light and sound as best he can.

“Yes, and this particular vacation was your idea. Get up, or I will drink all of the coffee and leave you behind.” Cas moves over to the freshly brewed coffee, and pours a mug so as to release a more potent aroma into the air.

Dean groans again, then flips over onto his back and swings up to sit on the edge of the narrow cot. “Fine. Gimme.” He makes a grasping motion with his hands. Blinks, then blinks again. “What time is it, anyhow? It’s hardly even light out.”

“Time doesn’t exist in the wilderness. It’s sunrise.” Cas hands over the mug, and pours one for himself. “The best time to spot wildlife, isn’t it? Perhaps we will even see some Bighorn Sheep. I understand they have been reintroduced to the park within the last few years.”

Dean takes a sip of his coffee. It’s definitely not coffee shop coffee, but Cas has done as well as he can with what he has to work with.

“Okay. Okay.” Dean drinks a little more, then sets the mug aside and starts looking for his own things.

Cas settles back on to his bed and falls into a reverie, watching Dean. His hair is kind of a mess and it’s clear he hasn’t shaved in a few days. His fingers itch to curl through Dean’s hair. His grip tightens on his coffee mug, instead.

They eat a fairly quick breakfast, then finish packing up and head on out. Cas looks over at the cabin of the three suspicious-seeming fellows and doesn’t clock any activity. Whether they have left already or not, it no longer matters. It is doubtful Cas will see them again, and he is glad of it.

The first half, distance wise, is a relatively easy trek downward. When the trees give way to more open expanses of granite, Cas makes a habit of scanning the mountainsides for any hint of wildlife.

There are plenty of animals, of course. No Bighorn Sheep. Not that he’s been able to spot, leastwise, by the time they reach a larger lake than the one they left behind, and take a lunch break.

This spot has more people around, as it is just off a paved road that more casual visitors to the park can take to get at least a flavor of the views. Cas is thankful to shrug out of his backpack for a little while. “The next section is going to be climbing back up in elevation, nearly the entire way to the next camp.” 

“Not supposed to be too intense, though. How are you doing? Is your injury troubling you at all? I don’t want you playing any heroics, Cas,” Dean says sternly. “I mean, I’d haul your ass back to civilization, of course I would, but I’d rather you do the ass hauling on your own.”

“I’m fine,” Cas answers. “Still feeling a few twinges, now and then, though that may be more mental than anything. It is more the loss of endurance from being laid up for weeks that is affecting me right now. No need to haul my ass.”

“Good.”

Cas doesn’t miss the way that Dean’s gaze drops down to said ass for just a moment, before darting away towards a group of kids not far off, running around chasing each other. Cas dips his chin and smiles.

They clean up after themselves after finishing lunch, and continue the trek, this time heading upwards. Switchbacks assist, but even so, his legs are burning as they climb near a thousand feet inside of one mile.

He continues to scan the mountainside out of habit at this point. As they near a summit, a flash of light catches his eye.

“Dean.” Cas pauses and places his hand on Dean’s bicep. Once he has the other man’s attention, he points upwards. “There’s something up there. A reflective surface, perhaps metal.”

Dean shades his eyes, following Cas’ finger. He frowns, grabs the binoculars out of a side pocket of Cas’ backpack, and finds the spot. “Yeah… yeah. Obscured by vegetation, but definitely something metal. Some sort of wreckage?” He hands the binocs over to his partner.

Cas peers through. “Could be nothing.” Still. His curiosity is engaged and they do still have, thanks to their early departure, plenty of daylight left to reach their next destination. “Could be something. Worth looking into?”

“Why not,” Dean answers as Cas expected him to. It’s probably nothing, but both of them prefer to know.

They veer off of the trail and, though it is a bit difficult to do so, manage to find a path that doesn’t require climbing equipment.

The closer they get, the more obvious that it is something. It isn’t until they curve around a large boulder, however, that they discover just how much of a something it is. A small four-seat single prop airplane. Or rather, what used to be one before it crashed.

“What the…” Dean makes his way closer, towards the front to get a better look, and takes a quick step back again once he’s there. “Pilot still here. Hard to judge how long, high elevation probably slowed down decay. No mountain lions have gotten here, whatever predators would be in this area.”

Cas follows around to take a look himself. “Odd that no one has reported him missing, don’t you think? This isn’t so remote or so camouflaged that the crash site would be impossible to find for rescue crews out looking.” Possible of course that they simply haven’t heard about it, but even so. He glances in the back seat to suss out any signs of other passengers.

“What is this?” Cas moves to the other side of the plane and steps up on to the landing gear to reach the door. After a bit of fighting with it, he manages to pry the door open and pulls out one of the duffel bags sitting on the floor of the plane, behind the two front seats. It’s plain black, a typical gym bag, really. Except when he pulls the zipper open, it is not workout clothes that he finds.

“Dean… I may have discovered why this plane wasn’t reported as missing.” He tilts the bag for Dean to see inside, as he comes around to Cas’ side of the plane. Inside are stacks of hundred-dollar bills, wrapped in rubber bands and arranged neatly in the bag.

“Well, fuck.” Dean reaches for the other duffel bag and pulls that towards himself. Unzipping the second bag reveals weapons and ammo. “Make that a double fuck.”

Cas pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket, even though he already knows he won’t have any service. Well.

Dean checks out the weapons options more thoroughly. These are not simple, easy-to-acquire weapons. They’re professional grade, paramilitary gear. “Drugs or weapons dealers? Don’t suppose it matters. We should take photos, for evidence. And not leave these here.” He juggles the bag with the weapons. “Or the cash.”

A further search of the plane doesn’t reveal any drugs. Doesn’t mean this shipment isn’t related, of course. Cas opens his mouth to argue with Dean over taking the duffel with them, when a sound echoing from below catches his attention. He grips Dean’s elbow and gestures for him to be quiet.

Dean nods, uses hand signals to indicate where he’s going – a short distance away, with some cover. He keeps an eye on Cas as well, to make sure he’s able to move well enough. They’ve been doing this for so long they hardly have to do more than look at each other to know what the plan is.

Cas grabs the duffel of cash before he moves, still within sight of Dean, but a reasonable distance between them so as they are less likely to both be spotted and/or targeted.

A short few minutes later, the sound gets close enough to manifest into separate voices.

“It should be around here, somewhere. Perhaps this will be incentive to invest in more accurate GPS tracking next time, hm? Let’s split up here, radio if you find anything.”

Cas recognizes that voice. Arthur. Pleasant camping trip with friends his ass. That was nothing yet definitive enough to prove they are looking for the plane, and yet it is too much a coincidence to think otherwise. He looks to Dean, points down towards the nearest thicker cover, farther up the trail from where the voices are approaching.

Dean nods, and opens the duffel with the weapons, choosing a handgun and ammo and shoving it into the back of his waistband. Both he and Cas are skilled at hand-to-hand, but ranged is better. Cas is being especially careful as he moves, attempting to avoid making much noise as he follows Dean away from the crash site.

Luckily, the three men coming up behind them are not appearing overly concerned with being stealthy with their own movements. It means that Cas can pinpoint the moment that one of them spots the plane by the increase of pebbles being carelessly kicked off the path, and an uptick in chatter.

He increases his own speed, the more distance the better at this point. The main problem is that the small summit they are on is one of the few areas nearby with actual tree cover, most of the surrounding area is sparsely vegetated, a lot of bare rock. Cas glances up from picking his path at the very moment the distinctive crack of gunfire sounds behind him. Dean, mere yards ahead of him, flinches mid-stride. Cas can read in his body language, even while running, that the other man is a second away from circling back to check on him.

“Go! Go!” Cas calls out to let him know he’s fine. They’ve obviously been spotted; it is time to forego stealth for speed. The tense set of Dean’s shoulders relax slightly and he takes Cas at his word. He goes. For all his love of cheeseburgers, the man can run.

They are trained in urban locations, as Embassies are located in capital cities. He doesn’t know mountains, he knows streets and hallways. All of this wide-open space makes him itchy.

Another crack of gunfire sounds as a spray of pebbles slams into Cas’ legs. He veers course slightly, going around larger rocks and boulders to provide at least some cover. Wouldn’t it be perfect to be shot during his vacation to recover from being shot?

He skids down the last little distance and finally hits a grove of pine trees. The gunshots stop, but he is not foolish enough to believe pursuit is over simply because cover has temporarily improved. It only takes a few minutes to meet back up with Dean as they both angle back towards each other. Cas exhales in relief as a quick visual scan proves Dean is not greatly injured. Though… he does have a slight limp. 

“All we want is the money,” a voice calls down to them, the one Cas identified as Arthur. He’s let a bit of an English accent bleed into his voice, now. “You’ve nowhere to hide. The best result you can hope for is to bring me the money, and I will let you walk away. I promise.”

Cas squints as he glances at Dean. If that voice was dripping with anything, it was smarm and disdain, hardly sincerity. Dean dramatically rolls his eyes and points southwest. Cas tips his head significantly towards Dean’s thigh, where he can now see a bloodstain blooming across the fabric of his pants.

Dean reorients himself to hide that side from Cas, points more strongly southwest, and follows intent with action. Cas isn’t exactly happy about it, but he has no choice but to follow.

“Have it your way,” Arthur’s facing voice calls out one more time, some minutes later. If it weren’t for the echoing properties of the surrounding rock they would never have heard him, which is encouraging, really. “You’ve nowhere to hide.”

What drivel. Cas ignores whatever words still trickle through until they no longer hear him at all.

They need a plan. And a moment to stop and get a look at Dean’s leg.

“Continue on to our campsite, or head down towards the nearest ranger station?” Cas asks, voice barely loud enough to carry as far as Dean. “Or back the way we came. There was an actual paved road where we stopped for lunch.”

“You have the map?” Dean asks, after looking around a bit, trying to get his bearings.

Cas stops to pull a paper hiking map out his pack, taking the opportunity to stash his watch and anything else that looks like it could cause a reflection from the sun and give their position away.

“It looks to be about eight miles downward to the valley,” Dean says, tapping at a point on the map. “I don’t want to lead them straight back to the trail where other people will be, but we stay off the trails we’re more likely to be stuck without a good route down. This thing is shit at showing what cover is available along the way.”

“Of course,” Cas replies. “It’s not intended for that. At least it’s topo, rather than just a landmark map. What is the game plan here, then? Do we stay ahead of them, or take them out?” He looks back up in the direction of where the plane crashed. “I don’t like the idea of endangering the other campers, either.”

“There is a chance they don’t know about this.” Dean taps the duffel full of weapons, a slightly crazed look in his eyes. Dean always did like playing with toys.

“Let’s at least get a better idea what we have,” Cas suggests. He pulls out some water and takes a long drink, then offers it to Dean. “How much daylight do we have?”

“Five, maybe six more hours,” Dean guesses as he sets his duffel down and takes more careful inventory of the weapons and ammo available. Cas does not miss the way Dean winces as he crouches down.

“Five or six hours,” Cas repeats as he takes a closer look at the map. The problem is that they don’t know exactly where they are. One of their problems. “That would be more than enough time, if your limp weren’t getting worse and worse.”

Dean glanced back at him sharply. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Cas snorts at that as he comes to crouch next to Dean, manhandling him to sit against a downed tree so he can get a better look at his leg. “Dean. This is not fine. You were shot.” Now that he is getting a better look, it’s obvious what the wound is from.

“It’s superficial, just a graze, it’s fine,” Dean insists, though he doesn’t object now that Cas has him on the ground.

“Continuing to say ‘fine’ doesn’t make that true. Stay put.” He digs through their backpacks until he comes up with the first aid kit and then gets to work cleaning and bandaging. Worse than getting shot, again, himself, is for it to have been Dean.

Once the wound is cleaned and dressed, Cas sits back on his heels and observes Dean. Dammit. He doesn’t want to be without this man.

Dean flexes his thigh, testing out the soreness. Yeah, he’ll be able to walk on it given enough motivation. Angry men with guns on his tail? More than enough motivation.

He glances up and is caught in Cas’ stare. Cas has a little smudge of dirt high on one cheekbone, and a sweat-dampened curl stuck to his forehead. Dean slumps back against the tree and looks up towards the sky as this overwhelming surge of pure fondness overcomes him.

“Dean?” Cas hovers closer, clearly worried.

“Are you going to quit Diplomatic Security?” Dean asks, still looking up at the clouds lazily floating across the sky.

“Now? You want to talk about this now.” Cas sits down next to him, joining him in leaning against the tree and looking up at the clouds, though he’s careful not to jostle Dean’s injured leg. “I haven’t fully decided, though I am leaning towards yes.”

“Because I’m a dumbass?” Dean asks.

It takes a moment for Cas to respond. “At some point I am going to have to respect that you do not feel for me what I feel for you, and let you go, for my own sanity.”

Dean drags his fingers through his hair and pulls tight. It says something about him that he’s more afraid of his feelings than getting chased down a mountain by a few dudes with guns.

“Yeah, well.” He uses Cas’ shoulder as leverage to get back up on to his feet, still not looking at the other man. “Let’s head for that lookout point. Maybe by the time we make it there, I’ll work up the courage to admit to myself that I do feel for you what you feel for me.” 

He heads out before Cas can say anything in reply. He keeps to a slow pace, listening to make sure Cas is following behind him. His leg stings, but it isn’t anything he can’t ignore.

Nothing is really different, is it? Nothing has really changed, except that this is the second time in a depressingly short time span that the two of them have been shot at. Shot at and hit, no less.

Dean has never focused on what he actually wanted, because he was so certain some ‘perfect’ life was never in reach. What would his life look like without Cas there, every day? No risk to his heart. Safe.

Boring. A cardboard cutout, a two-dimensional reality.

Maybe he’s finally ready to get his head out of his ass.

They end up having to backtrack a little bit in order to find a good path over the peak between them and the paved road. There was a point Cas was convinced he heard their pursuers, but they shelter under a boulder overhang and wait it out.

Neither of them say a thing. Cas wants to. He very much wants to, but it is best to give Dean his space right now.

Despite circumstances, it’s actually not the worst thing to be sitting next to Dean in silence. Even if they are hiding from gun-toting criminals. Even recovering from his own injury. Even with Dean’s new injury. He knows that they can handle themselves, especially together.

When they push off again for the road, he’s actually smiling. Just a little. Dean looks at him askance for a moment, then shrugs it off and keeps going, which makes Cas’ smile just that much bigger.

There are a few more close calls where one or the other of them thought they heard their pursuers. Dean’s limp is much more pronounced the farther they go as well. Both of them are motivated to reach their destination while there is still light out, however. A few sleeping bags will not be enough when the temperature drops at night.

The sun is low in the sky when they emerge from the trees right next to the paved road.

“Not terrible navigating, huh?” Dean asks, elbowing Cas when he moves up next to him.

“Not terrible luck, either,” Cas answers, pointing down the road at an approaching park ranger truck. The first words they have spoken to each other in hours.

“Huh.” Dean flags down the ranger. “Let me do the talking. We don’t want them to shoot us.”

“At this point, what’s one more bullet hole?” Cas replies in a dry tone.

He does, in fact, let Dean do all the talking. The man can be charming when he wants to be.

The park ranger is no little alarmed by the state the two of them are in, dusty, bloody and bruised. It does lend credence to their story, crazy though it may be.

So too does the reports of gunshots heard within the park from other hikers and campers.

Now that they are safe, Cas drifts off into a doze during the ride back down towards town. Much nicer than hiking. Next time Dean asks if he wants to go camping, Castiel will respectfully decline.

Too tired to make the drive back home, the two of them head to a nearby bar to enjoy some hard-earned cheeseburgers and beer after a long conversation with local law-enforcement. They’ve gladly surrendered the cash, the guns, and the location of the plane crash, as well as as much information about the three men as they could recall.

“Happy vacation, Cas,” Dean says as he slumps into his booth seat, stretching his legs out in front of him and pressing his calf against Cas. “Let’s not take any more suggestions from Sam, huh?”

Cas huffs a laugh. “Are we going to tell him we’ve only made it a single night?” He begins to carefully apply the proper amounts of ketchup and mustard to his burger, adding his pickles on an entirely different layer.

“Has it only been that long?” Dean asks as he watches the usual burger ritual with fondness. This man. “Probably, yeah. I think we have a good reason, though. We might not be meant for vacation. How about we set up a tent in my backyard?”

“If we’re going to finish out this vacation at your house, I’d much rather try out the memory foam you speak so highly of,” Cas replies as he picks up his burger, finally satisfied with the toppings.

Dean shoves a few fries in his mouth rather than respond with the first thing that pops into his mind about that. It doesn’t help. Nothing else comes to him, stuck as he is on that thought, now. “You finagling for an invitation to my bed, Cas?”

Cas gets a complicated series of expressions on his face. He finishes chewing the bite he just took, and washes it down with a sip of beer. “You know how I feel about that,” he finally says.

“Yeah.” Dean’s shoulders slump. “Yeah, Cas. I do know how you feel about that, seeing as you’re brave enough to actually tell me so. We meant to have all of these talks over alcohol?”

“The ambiance is a little different,” Cas comments. “I sincerely hope we aren’t about to be interrupted by gunfire once again.”

“Wouldn’t that be a capper to the day,” Dean replies. He drags his eyes up to meet Cas’. Least he can do is have this conversation with eye contact.

“You’re my best friend. My partner. I love you, too. I do.” Dean exhales, a bit shaky. “Cas.” He reaches across the table to link their fingers together. He has to try harder, he knows he has to try harder, because that expression on Cas’ face says the other man thinks he’s talking as a friend.

“You are my best friend, my partner, and I love you. You make me madder than anyone can. Happier, too. That’s the most important part. With you, I have a chance to actually be happy, and I want to try to let myself have that. If you’ll let me.”

“I want to let you.” The smile Cas gives him is beautiful. “Dean, I would give you anything in my power to give.”

“Well. Good.” Dean squeezes his hand, and lets go to return to his own meal. They have a lot more to talk about, a lot more. For now, he’s both exhausted and starving. The rest of this talk can wait until tomorrow, when he is hopefully neither.

They finish dinner, and barely make it to the hotel room they managed to sneak into last minute, and crash out close to immediately.

When Dean wakes up in the morning, it takes a moment to remember where he is and what happened. Cas is sprawled out next to him, still mostly dressed save for his pants which are dangling from his ankle, and his T-shirt which has ridden up during the night.

Dean smiles, full of affection. He brushes his hand through the mess of Cas’ hair, and leans in to kiss his forehead. He rolls out of bed to go take a long-awaited shower, wake himself up some more. Starts some coffee, checks his phone for messages while he watches Cas sleep. They’ve shared rooms before, but it’s rare he wakes up first.

The smell of coffee finally rouses Cas. He opens one eye, his head turned towards Dean. “Hello, Dean,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. He stifles a yawn, and closes his eye again.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean smiles at the picture the other man makes. He wants this every day. Admitting so to himself is getting easier. “We got a message from Jody over at the station. Looks like they caught and brought in our three friends.”

“That didn’t take long. I suspect they weren’t mountain men any more than we are.”

“Probably not,” Dean agrees. “Not a lot of paths in and out, either, for them to take. Hey, Cas? I’ve been thinking. You think Zar has room for two new employees?”

“You… want to join me at Garrison Security?” Cas pushes himself up to better face Dean, more awake now. He reaches for the mug of coffee that Dean hands over, and makes space for Dean to sit next to him.

“Yeah, I mean,” Dean swallows, and looks at a point over Cas’ shoulder. “Private firm, would be harder to split us apart than what we’re doing now. Nothing really stopping Ellen from sending me to Europe and you to Asia. Something like that. You know. Plus if we’re around here, you could get that cat you’ve always wanted.”

“You’re allergic,” Cas points out, sounding terribly fond.

“I am,” Dean agrees, looking him in the eye again. “Quality air filters, lots of vacuuming, some medication. I figure it is a small price to pay for having you in my space. Our space. Having a space together, preferably mine because I have an actual house with an actual yard and your apartment is nice but think of all the reno we could do to really make my house ours.”

Cas reaches over to run the pad of his thumb along Dean’s jaw. “I was going to say no, but the cat really sold me on the idea.”

“Shut up, dork.”

“Make me.”

Dean grins. “Do over? Tell me again.”

As usual, Cas knows exactly what he means, and complies. “I love you, Dean.”

This time, rather than freezing up, Dean answers. “I love you, too.” He leans in for the first of what will be many good morning kisses.

Not a single gunshot interrupts them.


End file.
